


lavender and summer

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heavy Angst, I love angst, Infidelity, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kinda, Pining, i warned u, slight slight jon and ygritte, this is stoopid incesty bc its important to the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21790258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If he was an easier person he might've allowed himself to believe that there was nothing more to summer than this— but he isn't, and it was too late before it started.Somewhere in between now and the unsalvageable, he made a vow to himself, to her.We’ll find the romance in this.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Ygritte, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 42
Kudos: 201





	1. Chapter 1

“He just wants to rile you up.”

Jon pried his eyes open at the new voice, far too soft and sweet for how he felt.

He looked up from his place in the grass to see what he fully believed was an angel, hovering right above him.

_Visery’s knocked the wind out of me so hard, I ended up in the afterlife _he'd thought.

She offered her hand out as if she was going to guide him to heaven. “He’s looking for a reaction, don’t give him one.” She says, helping him to his feet.

He feels the warmth of her flesh in his hand and he's genuinely perplexed. “Wait, you’re real?” He asks before he can stop himself, an embarrassing amount of seriousness in his voice.

He’s thrown off guard by her, maybe it’s her hand still in his, warm and making his head spin, cutting off his oxygen.

She’s taken aback, he can see that. She stares at him wide eyed, and he’s already wanting to kick himself before she jolts him from his thoughts laughs so hard her head tilts upwards, beckoning the sky to join her.

From this angle, he can see a crooked tooth, right beside her left front one. He decides he loves it. And when she comes back to earth to face him again, he sees a tiny scar resting between her brows. Decides to love that too.

“I’m Dany,” she says, absentmindedly swinging her hand in his. She nods her head towards him, “And you’re Jon.”

There’s a tinge of pride in her voice, sounding impressed with herself for knowing or wanting him to be impressed by knowing.

She looks at him waiting for his reply, and he opens his mouth to but cannot think of a single coherent thought his motor skills all but collapsing.

“I’m Jon.”

Her laugh carries over the wind.

*

“You know she’s been through a lot, and I’m going to need your help making sure this time will be.. beneficial.”

“So, what? I’m.. you want me to be like, her _tour guide_?” He bit out, unable to hide his dissatisfaction at the idea.

It’s his last summer before college for fucks sake, and he’s seen enough bad coming of age films to know what this entails. (A lot of cheap vodka, the loss of his virginity, perhaps a broken nose)

His father narrowed his eyes at him, setting down his coffee mug forcefully. “You’re going to be the best nephew you can possibly be. _Friend _you can be. Isn’t that right, son?”

Jon took a bite of his slightly burnt toast, nodded even though they both know it wasn’t a question. He’s good at those, _’Rhaegar’s Rhetoricals’_ Arya coined.

“I’ll be at work when she gets in tomorrow at 3:15, gate C15, so you’ll have to pick her up.” He got up to grab his keys from the counter, but halted his movements at Jon’s blatant lack of enthusiasm. “Well my god Jon, don’t look _too_ excited.”

He rounded the kitchen island to place his hands on either side of his face. “I don’t expect you dedicate your summer to her. I just think.. I think you could use each other, is all.” Jon fought the urge to laugh at that.

He hadn't realized he'd been frowning until his father was laughing, “It’s official, my son has passed me in the brooding championships," messing up Jon’s loose hair as he did.

“Cheer up, at one point you were two peas in a pod,” A reminiscent smile spread on his pale face, and he shoved Jon's shoulder teasingly. “Had my boy wrapped around her little finger.”

If he had a death wish, he might’ve made a remark about the Targaryens and their renowned love for theatrics.

Jon waits until he turns a corner to roll his eyes.

*

He’d seen her walking with a baby blue suitcase and wishes he hadn’t.

He knew it was her immediately. Not because of the tell tale silver hair, or purple-blue eyes, or the fact she looked like she’d descended from fucking heaven, _still_, no he knows it’s her because he knows his luck.

Of course, he would be the unfortunate bastard to have _this_ woman in his gene pool. Of course she'd grown to be the most stunning woman he’d ever seen in his life.

He had no choice.

He decided he must hate her, right then and there.

She glanced around with her phone to her ear, toying with the ends of her yellow sundress. When she spotted him, she started frantically waving him down as though he couldn't already see her, smiling too big and too bright and he was nauseous.He watched as she hastily made her way to him, since his feet had unfortunately decided to stop working.

She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. He was too entangled in the mess that was his head to function properly let alone hug her back, but she didn't seem to mind as she pulled back inches from his face to observe him more closely.

The relief he felt at her scar still being prominent was wholly alarming, and this close he could smell lavender and summer and desperately wished she would take her arms off his neck.

“It’s been too long, Jon! Look at you.” she'd said, smiling happily at him and loving that crooked tooth had been one of his finer decisions.

Her fingers just barely graze the back of his neck, nearing the hair at his nape and he’s mortified to be so hyper aware of such a small, should-be-irrelevant gesture.

He forced a tight smile, inclining his head towards the suitcase by her. “We should get going.” 

Her mouth opened just slightly, seemingly shocked by his curtness, (he's good at taking her aback) before she smiled again. “Glad to see you’re still awful at whole the social pleasantries thing. Some things never change, eh?” 

Later, he knows, when his head is against a pillow, he’ll imagine all the different ways she can ruin him until he drifts to sleep.

He walked her suitcase to the car, feeling like he knew the end to this movie.

*

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” His father sighed, no doubt frustrated with his antics as of late.

“My answer is not changing.” He spoke slow and deliberate, punctuating every word to highlight the ludicrousness of it. “Jon, he had severe hallucinations. Look at me. You’re _fine_.”

Jon knew his father was trying to be reassuring rather than patronizing, but he still felt like he’s was being talked to like a child.

Or maybe, he’s just a masochist always searching for the next strike, the second arrow to hit what's already injured. Maybe.

_It’s not madness but it should be. It should be,_ he won’t say.

If it wasn't due to his remarkably unfortunate genetic predispositions, then what? Because surely, under no circumstances should Jon be looking at his _aunt_, outside of a very platonic, very bloody, very familial lens.

And in every circumstance, he did.

“Son, what is this about?” His purple eyes implored Jon’s with such intense curiosity, his palms started to sweat, paranoid of being paranoid.

To escape his gaze, Jon looked down to his checkered shoes, focused on the little black and white squares.

“Curiosity, I guess.” He prayed his voice didn't waver, curled his toes into his shoes to distract the need to bolt. 

After some prolonged silence, he looked up to see his father opening his mouth to poke and prod further, but then a flicker of something crossed his face, gone as quick as it came. Their shoulders slumped in unison.

That night, Jon dreamt of his father twirling a dead blue rose in between his fingers.

He knew it was a dream because his father was weeping, and that's the only place he’ll let himself.

He pressed the dead flower to his nose to inhale it's nonexistent scent, his eyes fluttering shut despite. It hurts, he tells him. Over and over. Let himself collapse there.

His father held out the rose to him, whispered low and wrecked.

“You can’t mourn what never was. This is why it wounds us more.”

He woke up.

*

He quickly learned that Daenerys Targaryen is easy to loathe.

When she’s wasn't playing teachers pet with his father, she was stealing his friends,_ She gave me a stick and poke!" _Gendry nearly screamed, (he'll be the second to admit the tiny blade looks cool)

She’d play loud music at ungodly hours of the morning, or take all the hot water or steal his clothes from the dyer, _It looks better on me anyways_ she said and he rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree.

And when she got bored of those, she found new, more experimental ways to get under his skin.

Like prancing around in shorts that could pass as underwear, asking him to rub sunscreen on spots she could surely reach, or requesting he smell the new perfume she'd sprayed on her neck, _It's cotton candy_ she tells him and he tells her it’s disgustingly sweet.

He counted down the days until she left. He’d never been so scattered, similar to his morals and virtues. They'd thinned and spread about like a virus, harder for him to distinguish with time.

He officially parted ways with his moral compass when one day, she'd left the bathroom door open and he glimpsed her bare back—the realization she'd been naked, and so _close_ hit him like a freight train.

The sight sparked his imagination so vividly, he had no choice but to sprint upstairs and pace his room, list all the reasons that could possibly justify what he was about to do.

He rubbed himself raw.

(To atone for this, he wrote a mental list of why he was piece of shit until he fell to sleep.)

*

Another thing he’d learned about Daenerys— She’s good at him provoking him.

He’d been pretending to be enthralled in a conversation with Robb when she’d come outside in a cheetah print bikini top and a pair of panties she calls shorts.

He didn’t even have to squint to see the hard peaks of her nipples, the deep crease between her thighs and ass, her back dimples, _dear god_ her fucking back dimples.

He adjusted in his seat almost immediately, putting on his Ray Bans to stare without remorse. He was aware of Robb looking at her too but didn’t check for confirmation—the idea twisting his insides something vicious and sharp.

She'd realized they’d been silent since she came out and scoffed, setting her beach towel on the grass. “So, there’s no women in the north?” She grinned.

“Or is this the first pair of tits you’ve seen that’s not on a computer screen?”

Robb barked out a loud laugh at her boldness. Like his uncle, Robb is notoriously difficult to get a rise out of, but Jon has yet to adopt that Stark stoicism.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” He’d snapped, harsher than intended, thrown off by her mere presence. Turning back to Robb and pointedly ignoring her, he started, “Like I was saying, the sa—“

“How do you like the North so far?” Robb interrupted, looking towards her. She sat up with her arms behind her to support her upper body, effectively leaving her perky tits on display.

He’d never been so thankful for a pair of sunglasses in his fucking life.

“Well,” she began, rolling her head to the side, giving him a view of her neck. Jon knew she was looking towards him but all he could focus on was the way the end of her braid touched the small of her back, covering the dimples he wanted to put his mouth on.

He imagined the salty taste when his tongue would hit the skin there, the whimpers he'd illicit if he bit down to leave his mark, branding her his. 

“I haven’t seen enough of it to know, considering my dear nephew and supposed _‘tour guide’_ is determined to ignore my existence.” She nearly spat, and the severity of her tone snapped him awake, sent his mind reeling.

He’d wounded her. The hurt in her voice was as apparent as her in a crowd. He’d been so caught up in controlling and reigning in his own feelings, he disregarded and ignored hers.

He’d punished her for _his_ desire, and the thought was like a knife to the gut.

He pictured carving him out of himself, showing her all he can’t say as the contents of him spill on the table.

_This is my shame he'd say_._  
_

_And here, look, the room I've made for you._

Robb interrupted his thoughts as he turned to him with a dramatic gasp, his hand across his heart. “Jon! How _dare_ you?”

He rolled his eyes and fake pushed him, returning his attention to Dany. “You’re right. I’ve been quite possibly, the shittiest tour guide of all time.”

Dany eyed him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he was being sarcastic. “I agree.” she said, cautiously. 

Jon nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t even hire me.”

Her skepticism seemed to crack, as a light smile grew. “If you were on yelp I’d leave a long, terrible, career-ending review. Scare all your customers away.”

He laughed, “Jesus Christ, you _would_ be a yelp reviewer.”

Dany fake gasped in offense, “And you’d be the one thanking me, when we’re avoiding a restaurant that serves hair as an appetizer.”

Jon put his hands up in surrender. “Touché. Touché.”

Robb got up to go inside, but not before stopping to high-five Dany and loudly whisper, “Thank you, he needed to be humbled.”

“And you’re next.” Jon responded, smiling as Robb flipped him off until he was inside.

Jon waited until he was gone before turning to her again, taking off his sunglasses so she could see the regret in his eyes. “I’ve been a piece of shit. I promise I’ll spend the rest of the summer making it up to you.” 

She untangled her headphone wires before getting up to take Robb’s spot in the chair beside him, extending her legs so the sun would hit them. “Why?”

He quickly snapped his gaze up from her legs to her face. “Why what?”

“Both.”

_Because you drive me insane. Because I want you. Because theres blood between us._

He rubbed his fingers against his chin and bottom lip, trying to choose his words carefully. “I.. I don’t know, Dany. I’m a mess,” He stumbled before attempting to clarify, “With you I mean.” _Oh, fuck me. _

She huffed, amused. “I’m a mess?”

“No,” he said quickly, not liking that narrative. He shook his head and shrugged, exhausted of this dance.

Drained and resigned enough to face the potential consequences, he looked to her and spoke low, quiet enough for just her ears. “You make me a mess.”

He prayed she wouldn’t pry, because he would seriously rather die than clarify what he meant. He watched as her lips opened the slightest, her purple iris' searching his face for answers.

The longer she didn’t speak, the heavier the air became. Something palpable enveloped them then and he felt himself sink.

This was a mistake, a grave one, and he wanted nothing more than to shove the words back in his mouth.

That way, at least, he could be wiser and maybe choose a gentler way to break his own heart. Maybe choose a way less raw, and bloody and intertwined. 

But she'd found what she was looking for, because the next moment her soft hand was in his and he hoped it was enough.

He moved his thumb to glide across her skin, and if he was an easier person he might've allowed himself to believe that there was nothing more to summer than this but he isn't, and it was too late before it started. 

Somewhere in between now and the unsalvageable, he made a vow to himself, to her.

_We’ll find the romance in this._

*

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Jon couldn’t remember the last time he had the luxury of being able to finish a show before Dany barged in to change the channel.

He’d tried to compromise with her, coordinate a schedule, create alternate days, _What, are we in the fucking military?_ she’d laughed, snatched the remote from him.

Jon knew she was coming before he heard her.

“I’m starting to think you like the bachelor.” He watched the sway of her hips in her spandex shorts as she prowled towards the couch he was on. He stealthily slid the remote under the leather cushion.

“I’m starting to think you know exactly when my shows come on, and you like fucking with me.”

“I would never do such a thing!” She said dramatically, feigning innocence. She walked towards him and held out her upturned palm for him to pass the remote.

“I don’t have it!” He yelled, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Give me it!”

“I seriously do not have it Dany, I can't find it.” He had to strain his neck up to look at her, and it was a task to make sure his gaze stayed on her face instead of the thick tan thighs in front of him.

“Jon," she whined, "It’s the _finale_.”

She was borderline hysterical, and he admired how cute she was when she was all frantic and caught off guard. _Now you know who I feel all the time._

“I am telling y—“

He was unable to finish his sentence before Dany had jumped on top of him, tickling him all over. “What is wrong with you?” He said in between laughs, not believing that she was actually tickling him.

“Yield!” She yelled, coming to straddle him tighter. The strands of her long silver hair covered his eyes and fell into his mouth, and she grabbed both of his wrist to pin them above him, ending her torture.

“Do you yield?” She panted, heavy from exhaustion, and he was suddenly aware of everything to an uncomfortable degree.

Her entire weight was on him, her pelvis towards his, the fact she was _braless_ under _his_ t-shirt— he needed her off him, now.

He gave her the remote from under the cushion quickly, hoping she’d get off him before she could feel the hard on he knew was coming.

She took the remote from him but didn’t move, just stared down at him, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. His breath hitched.

“Get off me.” He commanded, voice stern but raspy from desire. He was unreasonably impatient now and horny and needing her far, far away from him. She tightened her grip on the wrist still held above him, leaned in closer. 

He swore she'd kiss him, but he was too enamored by the scent of her to focus on that. She smelt clean, like she’d just bathed, hints of the Aveeno lavender soap she used filling his nostrils and he knew this because he knew her— which made this (What the fuck is _this_ anyway?) much worse and much more lovely.

She was sure to feel him now, and his resolve was dangling by a string. His breath was stuttering heavily, and he was going to do something very stupid soon.

“Please.” He whispered, pained and unsure of what he was even asking for. Willing and dazed enough now to accept several different routes.

She took his hands and rested them on her mid thighs, before purposely grounding her hips down on him with such force, a moan escaped his mouth.

He was now a curious combination of mortified and unbearably aroused, ready to hide and rip her clothes off with his teeth.

He bit down hard on his tongue to stop the urge, tasting metal. She grinned at the way his eyes bulged out of his face and got off him, walked out silently. 

Left the remote.

*

Jon learned Dany has night terrors. He doesn’t have to wonder why.

_He had severe hallucinations. A coin flips and flips and flips. Fire and blood. _Flesh_ and blood._

Some nights he’d wake to see the kitchen light on beneath the crack of his bedroom door, see her the next morning curled in fetal position on the couch.  
  
Some nights she’d crawl out of her window to sit on the roof, think no one notices (he always does) and some nights, he’d hear her. Those were the worst ones.

On a particularly rough night, he went to her.

He’d heard her begging for Rhaella, pleading to Vis, wailing her fathers name in such an inhumane way, the hairs on his arms stood.

Jon woke her with a tentative hand on her bare shoulder, gently stirring her awake. With a loud gasp, her purple eyes sprung open to look up at him, wide and wet. She looked like a ghost then empty, translucent and haunted.

“Are you ok?” He whispered quiet as can be, trying for tender.

She nodded reactively, placed a hand on her forehead. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry for waking you.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s alright. Let me know if you need something.”

He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and ignored the itch to glide his finger under the strap of her tank top to feel her collarbone. He’d turned to make his way out, refusing to linger on the intimacy in seeing her this way, all vulnerable and wet eyed and weary.

“Stay.” She’d whispered, stopping him dead in his tracks. He turned on his heels slowly to face her.

Her brows tilted inwards as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I.. I just don’t want to be by myself right now.”

She spoke it like a question, like she was realizing it the same second she’d said it. She looked so tiny and his heart broke for several reasons at once.

He laid down with her, making sure to leave at least a 2 foot margin in between them, and willed his body not react to her proximity at such an inconvenient time.

They both stared at the ceiling in silence for some time, the only sound being their breaths and the occasional passing car. He peeked at her out the corner of his eye, and couldn't help but gape at the way the moon above them had marked her.

The pale of it matched her hair, the light kissing her flesh all over—she glowed. She looked like she belonged to the sky.

“You’re the moon,” he whispered, slightly delusional and half asleep and crazy for her.

The force of how hard he made himself cringe made him shut his eyes and he tried to save face, needing a hold on the little dignity he had left.

“I- I heard that somewhere, from a song maybe. I think that would be a good song title, don’t you?”

He mouthed some profanities towards himself to the ceiling, then felt his head being turned and guided by soft hands against his rough jaw. He opened his eyes to see her watching him, waiting for him.

Her thumb grazed his jaw back and forth and he involuntarily shivered, making her smile. He moved to place his lips softly on her cheekbone, breathing her in. She took a sharp intake of breath at the action, her voice solitary and small in the midst of them. “Jon.”

It was a quiet but fervent thing and it cracked something in him.

He became acutely aware of what's happened, what was _happening—they’d _ created something magical and disastrous and it can't belong to them.

He was bruising against her, the ache all over him.

And he is only human, one less strong than the stakes, so he turned away. “Goodnight, Dany.”

He turned his head into the pillow and inhaled deeply, needing to find it.

Lavender and summer.

_You can't mourn what never was. This is why it wounds us more._

*

“Your aunts cool.” Arya said, spinning the pocket knife he’d bought her last Christmas.

For her protection, he’d told her. _“We both know my fists usually do the trick, but thanks anyways.”_

“Mmm,” Jon hummed, making to move a handful of hangers in his closet and not really wanting to have this conversation.

Arya tracked his movements, raised one cool eyebrow. He felt like a caged wolf under her gaze, needing to keep moving.

“I’ve never seen a teenage dude so meticulous about their room. If you weren’t so damn annoying about it, it could’ve been endearing.”

“You’re just mad your room should be on an episode of Hoarders.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, flopping down heavily on his bed to look at the vinyl records he’d laid out to organize.

They’re both silent for some time before Arya looks at him with one of her infamous smirks. “She’s hot too, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

He had been so shocked that he nervously coughed and he tried to pass it as a scoff, which only made it worse as she belly laughed at his obvious failed attempt.

He went to sit on his bed and started to explore the apps on his phone. Needing to occupy himself, his mind.

“Don’t be morbid, Arya.” He’d responded with a monotone voice, trying to be as casual as possible.

She wagged her index finger in the air towards him, “You were thinking it!” She exclaimed, and he’s both impressed and irritated at her ability to read him like a book. 

He didn’t know what to say, so he threw a pillow at her face instead and she yelped.

She put it aside as she continued, “You’ve been attached at the hip all summer.” He inclined his head agreement.

"I can just see it now,” She sighed tiredly, as if she was exhausted already. “You’ll be a mess when she leaves.” 

He whipped his head up from his phone and made an incredulous face at her. “What makes you say that?” 

She shrugged at him. “I don’t know, I just know.” 

“So you do or you don’t?”

She huffed and threw the pillow back at him. They didn't talk for a while as they shuffled through the records before her flabbergasted voice pierced through the silence.

“You’re joking.”

He looked up to see her holding a Best of Morrissey Vinyl, betrayal on her face. “Really, Jon? He’s a piece of shit!” 

He stared at the vinyl and raised his eyebrows, stating what he thought to be obvious. "A piece of shit that makes good music.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not good enough for the bullshit he spews.”

Jon hummed in quiet agreement before grabbing it from her hand to put on his record player. He lifted a hand up to pause her before she protested.

“One song, you’ll like it. And _technically_ it's The Smiths, so it doesn't count.” She sighed in defeat and continued skimming through the records. He put the vinyl on and sat back down.

_So Please, please, please,_

  
_Let me, let me, let me_

  
_Let me get what I want this time_

When it was over, he looked to gauge Arya’s reaction to it but she was already looking at him intently, something knowing in her eyes.

“What?” He asked too loudly, not liking how stripped bare he felt all of the sudden.

She turned away, spinning her pocket knife again. “Nothing.”

She can read him like a book.

*

The last night of Daenerys Targaryens summer in the north, she wakes Jon up with her mouth.

He feels the press of her lips against his cheek and carves his thumb nail into his hand until it makes an indent to be sure it’s real.

Its an incredibly inconvenient time to think about how if he was to squeeze his eyes tight enough right now—he could be flat on his back at Dragonstone again, with an angel without wings, who was gonna take him somewhere nice.

Could bask in the bliss of not knowing, relearn how to unlearn.

She hovers above him now the same way she did then, waits for him to make the next move. They’re always waiting. (This is a theme of theirs.)

Jon doesn’t let himself think twice before he’s fisting Dany’s hair greedily, pulling her down for a messy, sloppy kiss that somehow feels religious—the irony does not escape him. 

When their mouths connect, it feels just right. They regret it already.

The kiss is as rough and as graceless as he'd imagined it would be, because he's self aware enough to know that there is nothing pure about this, about them, what they’ve done or will do— but tonight they pretend.

Their loud breaths fill the room and he tugs upwards at the shirt she's wearing, (It’s his and it kills him to know it) until she's all skin in front of him.

When he reaches behind her with trembling hands to unclasp her bra, he doesn't break eye contact with her. Mainly because he's seeking permission but also because he couldn't even if he wanted to. 

He kisses her pretty peach nipples until she's sobbing above him, and her mouth forms perfect o’s going up, up—encouraging those that deem them monsters to watch. 

Wants them to see how they love the same way they sin, covered in grime and flowers.

Wants them to see how they fall, how they end, how oblivion has a taste.

So he moves down until he's at her silky stomach, pushes her backwards to lay down. She wraps her legs around his torso and he moves them away, needing to prolong this, too close to the edge already.

He sits on his on haunches instead, crooks his fingers underneath the waistband of her shorts, sliding them down. When they're off he exhales loudly. (He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.)

He moves upwards to kiss her again because he must, and they kiss slow and unhurried like time is on their side.

His lips travel downwards to the place in between her neck and shoulder, and it's so _her_, it's where her scent is the strongest he used to think but now he knows, lavender and summer always, she’s lavender and su—

She pulls away with a pained gasp, turning her head away to collect herself. She's breathing hard, her whole body shakes and he knows what she’ll say before she says it, because he’s seen the end to this movie.

“There’s no way out,” She breathes quietly, rubbing her cheek on his. “We lose either way.”

He can’t see straight and feels slightly drunk but he takes her chin with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“One night.” He half asks, half says but it ends up sounding like a plea more than anything.

He won't berate himself for that like he normally would, because this is all they have, and he's bidding his time, postponing the inevitable.

He buries his face at her sternum to kiss there over and over, mouths how much he wants her against her rapid heartbeat. She grabs his hair to pull his face upwards, meets her eyes.

“I’ll leave you with this.”


	2. Chapter 2

He’s different when he sees her next. 

He’s older and better and wiser, with a pretty girl he shares no blood relation with around his arm, so no, he does not care.  He does not care that she’s here, in the North, for him. 

(So when she wraps her arms around his neck for an embrace, he holds his breath in retaliation.)

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

He lied. 

His father had told him roughly 1000 times, the most recent reminder being that same morning.

“Of course, I wanted to congratulate you in person.” 

Truthfully, the occasion seemed a bit lackluster. He’d supposed their reunion would be for something more monumental like a wedding, maybe a funeral, a myriad of possible crisis’. 

He thinks of graduating more as a stepping stone to grander achievements, but he won’t say that because she’d call him a cynic and he’d argue he was a realist, then she’d smirk like she knew something he didn’t.

He inhaled deeply, feeling overwhelmed to the point of having to overcompensate with forced nonchalance, his fight or flight response at war.  


“Well, thanks for coming.” 

Dany rolled her eyes. “Duh,” She grabbed his arm and pretended she didn’t notice how he’d been squirming, how he flinched at her touch.

“I like her Jon,” she winked. “Fiery, that one.”

His stomach dropped. She was obviously referring to Ygritte, but there was something about her freely giving him her stamp of approval that made him feel a bit ill, made him clench his trembling hands. 

Maybe it was because it seemed to be at least half genuine.

He laughed humorlessly and looked around for a moment, nodding his head.  


“Yeah? Well I like her too.”

She lifted a curious brow and lightly squeezed the bicep she was still holding.

(And why the fuck was she still holding it, anyways?) 

“That’s good.” She said, undetectable as ever. 

He smiled grimly, forcibly trying not to glare. “It’s great.” 

Surely she was under the impression she’d still had him pegged, had her fangs sunk at his jugular, and the thought had him wanting to burst at the seams.

What she doesn't know is that he’s older and better and wiser now— so he walked away to go find Ygritte, the nice girl with a different family tree, and took her to his room. 

Bent her over his desk, fucked her harder than usual. 

_"Where do you go?’" _She’d always ask when he was inside of her, when he was with her, and he could never tell her what she wanted to hear so she’d slam the door on him and he’d let her without a fight, then the next week they’d pick up the pieces to do it all over again.

He always made sure when his neck stretched during climax to say her name towards heaven. 

_See? _ _ I’m good and clean and forgiven.  _

But when his eyes closed in ecstasy, he never saw her.

Pretended it was enough. 

*

“One drink, on me.”

He jumped in his chair at her voice and turned from his computer to see her leaning on his open door. Her arms were crossed, lips pouted like a child begging for sweets. 

He gave himself half a second to take her in from head to toe, admired her frizzy hair, the light bags under her eyes from jet lag, the sweatshirt she wore which looked more like a dress on her that was horribly his. 

(_You stole half my wardrobe_ he’d said, to which she smiled and replied _so_ _you’re always with me_ and he’d never hated her more for it.)

She looked utterly exhausted and beautiful and undone in front of him, wrecked in the way he liked her best.

He never stood a chance.

He’d already made up his mind but pretended to hesitate so he didn’t look too eager.  


“One.” He agreed, index finger pointed for emphasis.

And he meant it, fully intending on nursing a jack and coke while enjoying a calm, casual evening with more silence than talkingbut like most things involving Daenery’s, things didn’t go according to plan.

They did not have one drink.

They got positively obliterated.

He can only recall vague remnants of the night, all broken into tiny pieces and fragments like shards of glass.  


_“It’s a celebration!”_ She’d kept on yelling over and over, encouraging him, egging him on.  He’s not even positive how they got home, only remembers the epilogue, which he reckons to be a good thing.  


They stumbled into the house at 2am like two teenagers who’d just drank for the first time, shushing each other and stumbling as they took off their shoes and coats. 

They were extra careful not to wake his father who would gladly jump at the opportunity to lecture them on the value of decisions made in early adulthood.  (The motivational speech would last for approximately 48 hours.)

“We reek!” He’d whispered, waving his hand in the air to rid the stench of alcohol as if it’d work.

“Speak for yourself,” She’d laughed before smiling devilishly at him. “Race you there?”

His brows furrowed. “Where?”

She bit her lip and he honed in on the act like how he imagined a hunter would with it’s prey, right before she started to run upstairs as fast as he’d ever seen her. He followed instinctively, knowing immediately where she’d go. 

They were chuckling like children by the time they got to his room, and right as they entered his phone started ringing. He took it out his pocket and fumbled with it as it nearly dropped to the hard wood before picking it up.  


He took a steadying breath, attempting to prepare himself to sound more sober than he felt. His weak efforts at covering his slur were useless as he ended up sounding like he had a mixture of a slight speech impediment with an odd accent.

When Ygritte asked him if he was drunk, he’d decided to stay on theme with himself lately and lie.  Sober him might’ve asked himself why he even felt the need to in the first place, but he was too far gone to start psychoanalyzing himself now.

“No, no I only had 2.” 

Dany came up from behind him and put her hands over his eyes, yelling loudly, “He’s _fucked!” _

He turned to her with wide eyes and tried to suppress his growing smile but failed miserably, and he kicked himself for giving her the satisfaction of making him so visibly amused at something that should’ve pissed him off.

He looked at her while he spoke, “Dany’s drunk, please don’t mind her.” 

“Am n—“ He put his palm over her mouth to quiet her and she continued muffling words against it, causing goosebumps to erupt all over.  


While he was too busy paying attention to the new source of heat at his hand to reply to her further questions, Ygritte had hung up. He  tossed his phone on his bed with a defeated sigh before glaring viciously at her, his crinkled eyes betraying his entertainment for her antics.  


“Are you five?” 

“Are you five?” She copied high pitched. 

He turned away to hide his grin. “Well, guess I have my answer.” 

He made his way to his bed to lay down, feeling a wave of nausea all of the sudden, shutting his eyes to avoid the spins.

He felt her before he heard her when the mattress sunk down near his head, and he peeled his eyes open to see her perched beside him, hovering over him, all around him.

At the sight his heart had opened and he’d felt in his chest when it happened, bloomed and bruised.

“I missed you, you know.” She’d said as if she felt it happen too, as if the weight of her words didn’t settle on his preexisting ache like a boulder.  


She rubbed her thumb on his brow lightly, and the touch wasn’t sensual at allmore of what he’d assume a motherly, nurturing touch would feel like. It was worse for a number of reasons he wouldn’t acknowledge. (He doesn’t know how to drift without knowing how to suffer.)

He shut his eyes again reflexively, told her what he knew. “No you didn’t.” 

Her ministrations briefly paused, her voice raw and thick. “But I did, Jon.”

“Oh yes,” He’d said as if recalling, “That explains why you’ve spent the last couple years intentionally avoiding me like the plague,” He scoffed, his inhibitions and tongue officially too loose. “Like some fuckin’ _disease_, Dany.” 

Tomorrow he knows, he’ll obsessively ruminate on the ridiculous shit he was saying but tonight, tonight he’d be one of the bold ones. The ones that seek, the ones that get answers.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“I knew what’d happen if I didn’t.” She’d replied immediately, with a seriousness that sobered him.

He opened his eyes to look straight into hers, not letting them roam. Needing to forget the details, the eyes and the scar and the tooth.

“It’s always the end with you, isn’t it? Always the _if’s_, the _could’s_.”

He’d seen it now more than he ever had. They were always evanescent, the pause before the play, running by and through each other at quick speed.

A fast flame of something bright, right before it dimmed to black.

“We don’t have the luxury of possibilities, Jon. What good does it do to lie to myself? To _you_?” She nudged him lightly.  


“We’re predestined,” She’d whispered, speaking as though he was some fragile animal she was attempting to soothe, to comfort.

“And the quicker we face it, the easier.” She held his chin, spoke slowly. "I was just trying to water it down, make it less complicated.. And I'm sorry it did more damage than good." 

_Less complicated_. He could almost laugh at that, and  he wonders if there’s some part of her that resents this, what they’ve done, the corruption on their hands. It wouldn't surprise him.  


He’s sure if Ygritte doesn’t already she will in the future and she should, for the things he’s done. For his hearts betrayal.  He cares deeply for her, it’s true, and he should love her. She's kind and blameless and if he was better, he could’ve.   


He knows she‘ll come to despise him, and the longer he drags it on the worse it will be no doubt.  Maybe that’s why he hasn’t put an end to it, subconsciously needing a greater punishment, the one he deserves.  
  
He’s been a masochist since the first wound.   


But eventually, he’ll have to be honest about the things he cannot give her.  For the things that hang on him like a dead limb, follow him like a shadow, apart of him in both a literal and figurative sense. 

All the things mixed with the blood.

He averted his eyes, feeling it all too much. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.” 

She sighed deeply. “No. No, it doesn’t.” 

He wouldn't argue with her, _couldn't_ argue with her, because she was right and they’d both known it from the start.

They could never be simple but it was never enough for them, never enough to stop them from each other, staining each other, loving each other.  They’d chosen this, to mark the forbidden things to keep them ripe and on their toes, hungry for life, for something more.  


The appeal of grasping something they’d been denied of was as tempting as it was terrible, an act of defiance, something to prove. What they couldn't have was theirs for the taking. 

It was deeper than them.

“So what now?” 

She takes his hand and puts it to her mouth, kisses it something sweet and her own.

_How lucky are those who have not loved you yet._

She doesn’t say a thing, and he looks at his hand at her mouth and faintly remembers hearing about how cells regenerate every 7 years, so he knows by that time his skin will have forgotten her, she’d no longer live underneath, and he’d be wiped clean of her. Of this.

He starts counting.

*

“Never thought I’d catch you in the act.”

He’d only ever seen her wearing his stuff, never saw her taking them, but he’d caught her redhanded. 

One dainty hand in the dryer picking out some of his clothes like she was doing some light shopping. 

He’d stared right at the culprit, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in disapproval. She’d froze before moving to make her escape, but he put his arm out to halt her body. 

“Nu-uh.” He said, grinning and nodding to the clothes in her arm. 

She looked frantically between him and the entrance to the laundry room, plotting her escape before quickly throwing her whole body at him, hugging him with bruising force.  


He chuckled in surprise before the air became thicker in a fraction of a second, and he started to hug back without realizing. 

“Goodnight.” She’d said, still in his arms.

“Goodnight.” He replied delayed, fully discombobulated.

She somehow managed to press her self even closer, closing the smallest sliver of space that was left between them. She reached up on her tip toes high, tried to crawl inside. Make a home out of him. He felt her heart beat wildly as she’d whispered, “Goodnight.” 

He wrapped his arms even tighter around her, crushing her to him, the fabric of her shirt bunching up above her navel with his grip. He put his nose at her neck to know her again.  


_Still_. _Still_.

It nourished him. (It destroyed him.)

“Goodnight.” 

She shifted on the balls of her feet trying to get impossibly closer, pushing her hips towards his, needing that friction. Needing something beyond flesh. She put her lips to his ear, her tiny exhales sending him floating, bolts of electricity traveling to his groin. “Goodnight.” 

His hands roamed over her body before he could stop himself and his palms landed on her ass needing her closer, so much closer. He squeezed the flesh there and exhaled loudly, “Goodnight.” He murmured, low and unrecognizably hoarse.

She bit his ear lobe hard and he shuddered, cursed under his breath. Squeezed the flesh again in automatic response.

She pulled back then, flushed and devious. “Goodnight, Jon.” 

He watched her walk away with his clothes in her arms.

*

It was the most diabolical, reckless, utterly appalling thing he’d ever done in his entire life.

It was also the most erotic. 

Ygritte and his father sat directly across from him scarfing down their slightly overpriced entree’s. “_I told you you’d be thanking me.” _She’d bragged as he annihilated his pasta, and he couldn’t even think of a quirky comeback in time because he’d felt her hand on his knee that shouldn’t of been on his knee and nearly choked on his food.

He felt like he’d been dunked into a tank of ice, and he twirled around the leftover scraps of his pasta on his plate distractedly, knowing if he were to open his mouth it’d be pure nonsense.

“Do you always check before trying new places?” Ygritte asked, not unkindly.

“Unless I’m feeling rather impulsive, which isn’t often.” She replied, as her hand moved up to his _fucking_ thigh and he fixated on the napkins by his plate to not pass out.

His father huffed, “Isn’t often? Your middle name is impulse, Dany.”

“Not always!” She laughed, “It really just depends on my mood.”

Her hand moved higher towards his inner thigh and the image of an inhaler popped unbidden in his mind, unable to breathe, torn between putting her hand at his groin to relieve him or ripping it away. 

She made the decision for him when she lightly cupped him and he banged his knee hard under the table. 

“S-sorry.” He stammered out awkwardly, and she finally showed him some mercy by taking her hand off him.

She took the sudden attention off him by announcing, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” 

She got up without giving him a single glance, and as she departed he tried to gather his remaining wits. He played idly with his cutlery while mentally debating himself for a solid two minutes, before excusing himself as well. 

(_To get answers_ is what he kept repeating until he reached the restroom area.)

He found her leaning casually against the wall, smirking at him like the vixen she was. 

“At dinner with my _father_, my _girlfriend_? You’re mad.” He’d sounded as if he'd just ran a marathon, out of breath from her boldness and anticipation.

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, so are you.”

He was too affronted to reply, too jumbled, and she took his hand before quickly dragging him into the women’s bathroom, shoved him into a stall with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. He flabbergasted by her audacity, that sheer wildness of her, always dancing on the edgeshe was so alive.

And he was going to fucking devour her. 

He kissed her with every fiber of his being, angry and shocked and so, _so _alarmingly turned on by this highly immoral ordeal. 

_You're crazy, we're crazy, but we exist. _

She broke the kiss before he could deepen it, and he made to follow but she put a shaky hand to his stuttering chest.  


She kept eye contact with him as she got down to the tile floor and he briefly slammed his eyes shut at the mere thought of what he thought she might do. 

She looked up at him as she unzipped his jeans and he immediately had to put his hands in her hair, needing a hold on something to survive this, to survive her.

She pulled out his length which was impossibly hard already, not even having to work him.  “Jesus,” he gasped under his breath, looking up towards the ceiling and counting the squares to distract himself from finishing like a fucking teenager.  


When he felt the slick heat of her mouth he almost collapsed into the stall door, banging his head on it as his low moans and loud exhales filled up the otherwise silent restroom.  The lewd sounds of her sucking and lightly choking were full volume at his ears, amplified and echoed off the walls, and he looked down to see her staring right at him while taking him as deep she could.  


He was coated in her saliva, her eyes watery from effort, and the sight was enough to push him to the edge.  He couldn’t say where he was or who he was at that moment. He was convinced she’d sucked the soul out of him in that stall, and a few moments later when he came into her mouth her name was heavy on his lips as he did.  


And when his eyes shut in nirvana, she was right there. 

“You’re insane.” He’d whispered louder than intended, still trying to collect himself. He watched as she wiped the corners of her mouth as she stood up. 

“So are you,” She smiled, fixing his ruined hair. “Besides, you love it.” 

He could only nod in agreement, not having the energy to lie after she just split him in two in a public bathroom stall. 

“I do.” 

*

“You ever wonder if we get it from my father?”

He doesn’t need to think twice to what she's referring to.

“What? No. Dany thats.. thats c—” 

“It’s not probable to you?” She snapped, growing irrationally angry out of the blue. “Or is us joining a long line of family fuckers too _vile_ for you to speak of?”

He vigorously shook his head, unsure of where this was coming from. “We’re not like that. We didn’t even, it- it's not the same beca—“

“Are you implying we’re morally superior to _regular_ family fuckers? That were _better_?” 

He wasn’t sure if the venom in her voice was aimed at him or them or herself, but her red hot fury sparked on his own. 

“And whats your end game here, exactly? What do you want to fucking _do_ about it, Dany? We can sit here and fucking despise ourselves until we rot, but what can we _do_ about it?”

She turned and stared straight ahead, eyes blank and zoned out. “We can stop.”

He closed his eyes, worn out and wretched. 

_We’ve gone too far. _ _I gave you me._

“But we won’t.”

Her voice was faraway. “But we won’t.” 

*

Sometimes, when she’s in the mood to pretend they’re average and pale, they don't look at the clock and she’ll cuddle him soft like he's something she could break.

And sometimes, she'll do this thing where she wrap her arms around his torso to make him the little spoon, and it makes him feel so small, reminds him how small they are in the grand scheme of thingsand if for nothing else, he loves her for that.

On her second last night she does this for him, lets him be nothing while she puts her lovely lips at the nape of his neck, inhaling and exhaling together. 

He places his hands on top of hers at his abdomen and compares their size for a moment, before flipping around and letting her be invisible.   


She burrows herself in his bare chest then, and he puts his nose at the crown of her head.  He finds something familiar there and thinks about how if he had a choice, it’d be the last thing his senses recognized before perishing. Thinks about how if he had a choice he'd make it his own, lingering there infinitely, attached to him in a way it becomes apart of him.

She looks up at him, red nosed from the cold, sweet and tired. “I leave tomorrow.” 

He knows this and like many other things he knows it's terrible to, so he brings his head down to meet her and kisses her top lip lightly, then her bottom.

“Do you think this is all we’ll have?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking, nothing groundbreaking can from it, but he can’t help it. (He hears distant words from a dream once, mourning and never having and mourning for it some more.)

She backs slightly away and takes his jaw in her hand, implores him seriously. “All we have is _now_, this moment, just like anyone else.” Her voice is as soft as spring, but the words aren't  reassuring nor are they surprising, so he only nods, because he’d accepted his fate long agowhen summer and lavender changed everything.

He kisses her again, rough and urgent and needy, puts everything he can't say into it. But it's not enough, never is, so he breaks it with a harsh gasp to cradle her face.  "Everytime I'm with you is the last,"  She frowns at him and lightly shakes her head, her mouth parted to reply, but he holds her tighter.

"But one day, _one day_, it won't be like that."  He swears fiercely, not wanting it to sound like a question, needing no trace of doubt. He hopes he sounds more sure than he is, wants her to know that it’s possible, that he'll fight for it, that he doesn’t care. 

And it _is_ possible, everything is, because wrapped up in her like this, he feels more than human. 

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck to rests her cheek on his. He hears her faint sniffles and his skin starts to itch with the wetness she leaves from her tears, so he moves back to kiss and lick the hurt away at her flesh.  


He didn't mean for it tickle but he earns a lovely chuckle, one she deserves tonight, so it was worth it.  She smiles wide at him, crooked tooth and all, and he feels it travel down to his bone marrow. She fists his hair and brings him down for a hungry kiss, a kiss he'll remember.

If she doubts his faith she doesn’t tell him it, lets him have thisthe same way she did all those years ago. 

And It all seems so easy, so _real_ like this, when she's pulling down his sweats and they're gasping in the dark, her sweaty limbs splayed across his, the small aftershocks still coursing through their bodies, the dazed tender kisses she sets on his nose, the open mouthed ones he leaves on her lower back. 

_We could have this. This could be ours._

And when he wakes the next morning, he turns into the messy sheets and inhales.

One day.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't plan on doing another chap, but after a few comments i decided to give it a go  
honestly really not entirely satisfied w it, and i'll probably have to edit further but i'm too tired to do it rn
> 
> comments appreciated as always
> 
> (also poor ygritte i did her dirty ngl) lmaooooo

**Author's Note:**

> all mistakes my own  
literally just my self indulgent way of making jon listen to the smiths  
bc modern jon is so the type that would
> 
> *also just to be clear I believe/would hope they’d be conflicted in a MODERN world, only. (bc I have common sense unlike d&d) 
> 
> -inspired by summers in essos by framboise which is absolutely amazing and you should read!


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